


Intermittent

by notecard



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Hate Sex, In Medias Res, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Rough Sex, Slapping, Strap-Ons, a little blood, first person Mercy POV, just jumping right into the sex yeehaw, mercy is angsty, moira talks a lot, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 16:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notecard/pseuds/notecard
Summary: Angela and Moira continue to meet up, long after their relationship and Overwatch have ended. Angela feels conflicted.





	Intermittent

“Mercy,” she says with that infuriating smirk. “God, what an appropriately saccharine code name for you. It’s adorable.”

“Can you please stop talking?” I ask, looking down at the woman lying beneath me. Moira smiles back up at me. Her large hands run up and down along my legs, fingertips trailing around the strap-on’s harness that loops around my waist.

“Once more. Harder this time, if possible,” she says, meeting my stare. I happily oblige and let my palm run fast against those sharp cheekbones. The slap makes a crisp sound in the dim bedroom. She takes in a fast breath. Her sharp nails dig into my skin.

“Wonderful,” she says with a shudder. “Though you’re still holding back, as usual. What? Do you want me to beg for mercy?” I groan through her self-satisfied laughter.

“You’re absolutely horrible.”

“Are you sincerely criticizing me? Or is this still part of our symbiotic sadomasochism?”

Her fingertips dig harder into my legs, and I lean down to return the favor, letting my own nails press firmly into her bare shoulders. Her chest rises in a tense breath.

“Good. But harder still, Mercy, or do you simply want to ‘make love’ like the good old days?”

“Stop. Talking.”

I dig my fingers into her with greater force, feeling the exact moment when I could stop but instead I go on and break skin. Small beads of red leak out, and I can’t help but gasp.

“Too much?” I ask, nervous for a beat.

“No,” she says firmly. Her hands grip my wrists and press my palms even harder against her skin. “You know I’ll tell you if it’s too much. Just like you’ll tell me, right?”

“Of course.” We’ve done this too many times. We know our rules. I shake her hands off me and quickly readjust the harnesses’ straps that run along my waist and upper thighs. Everything is still in place. The strap-on feels familiar, powerful. Being on top like this is preferred for me. The mobility and control, it’s effortless.

I roll my hips forward, thrusting harder into her again. Moira’s head falls back in the pillow. The visible strain in her strong neck sends thrills down my spine. I wait a moment, watching her attempt to regain composure.

“I wonder,” she says with an edgy laugh through shallow breaths. “How’s life after Overwatch?”

“You’re unbelievable. Can’t a conversation wait?”

“We hardly talk anymore,” she purrs. “Do you miss it? Still keep up with any of our old friends-,” another hard thrust into her finally gets her to stop.

I pick up the pace. I put my weight into each motion, pushing deeper into the other woman, letting my body take over in a flood of muscle memories saved from the many times we did this long ago under much different, better circumstances. Maybe not better. Simpler. Before I realized how deeply rotten she is under the dazzlingly deceptive exterior.

I feel my body tighten, muscles straining. Moira seems to unwind in response, losing her typical, practiced rigidity as her body moves in sync with mine.

But I pause abruptly when I feel her nearing the edge. I can hear it in her voice, the way her breaths sharpen and her cadence rises from that controlled composure to something more raw and desperate. I stop, but I don’t pull out. Not yet. Her back arches in pent up tension.

“Oh, fuck,” she says softly as I linger over her. Her chest rises in deep, off-tempo breaths, but she manages a laugh. “As always, you know me to well.”

“Unfortunately.” I drag my nails roughly up her legs and hips. Her eyes narrow. “I don’t feel entirely eager to let you off that easy.”

“I appreciate it, darling.”

I slap her again. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“Fine then, Dr. Ziegler,” she says flippantly, rubbing her reddened cheek. “How would your fellow doctors feel if they knew how much you got off on pain?”

“Not any pain. Just yours.”

Moira laughs earnestly. “How grand. I feel incredibly special, Mercy.” Moira gasps as I push the strap-on slowly in and out. “And conversely, I enjoy the pain you inflict. How fitting. Isn’t it a shame how everything fell apart with us? I know you were upset about my research with Blackwatch, but I do hope you’ll realize I was acting for the greater good of humanity.”

“You’re infuriating.” I pause once more. “Please save your dramatic monologues for later.”

“I’m simply being honest about my feelings. You should try it. Don’t keep everything bottled up until I happen to invite you over and you can fuck your frustrations away-,”

I slap her hard again. So hard my palm stings. She seems perfectly paralyzed for a second.

And in a sudden rush, Moira leans up and pulls me to her lips. We’re kissing fast and rough, and I can’t help but relish the pure tactile feeling. She’s infuriatingly good at this. She’s always been too good at this, and I hate myself for not just liking it, but absolutely needing it.

But I know it’s mutual. I’ve come to realize the simple reason we meet up like this anymore, during these guilty liaisons every few months where we seem to reopen old wounds and retrace old memories, is because we both somehow still need this.

I break the kiss and go back to thrusting, slower this time. Watching her eyebrows narrow with that mix of frustration and pleasure.

“Did you pick out your nickname or did someone just start calling you that?”

I am not about to please her with a response. I lean down to her neck, sucking at her collar bone as my hips work. She laughs. “So gentle.”

I pause. “I don’t want you to get everything you want.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m certainly not fully satisfied. What I really want is if you could put on one of those old costumes we used to wear.” I bite down on the nape of her neck. Her hand moves swiftly to the back of my head, lacing her fingers into my hair and pushing me down to her even more. I finish before breaking skin, and she sighs.

I pull away and pause, examining the spread of bruises and bites along her chest. She’s shaking. She’s beautiful.

Her hand falls away. The other, the one that’s laced with those deep, dark purple veins and hues, slides up my inner thigh.

“That hand is always freezing,” I say. “It’s terrible.”

“I think it’s a fun side-effect,” she replies. She slips her cold fingers all along the harness, then further, dragging up my spine. “But if you don’t like it, well, I’m considering doing another test on the other hand. I’ll certainly take your requests. Do you want this one to be hotter?” She then wraps her other hand around my ass and squeezes hard. I gasp. “Maybe with shorter nails on both? Although, it was always fortunate you only ever wanted oral. You just love being on top, too-”

“You’ll never stop, will you?”

“With what, exactly?”

I just don’t know. Talking? Being horrible? Being able to wind me up so tight and unspool me so easily? I’m not sure. I let my hands cup her flushed cheeks. The gentleness seems to catch her off guard, and for a moment, Moira’s expression is blank. Her eyes search mine. And there is that split second, every time we do this, where I wish we were still together, and I feel disgusted. After everything she’s put me through, I still come back.

“I hate you.”

Moira laughs. “I know.”

I simply can’t take it anymore. I grab her wrists and hold them over her head, leaning closer to pick up the pace once more. She laughs softly in my ear until her voice breaks amid strained gasps and heady moans. The sound of her voice makes my entire body feel awash with heat. It’s faster now, harder. I want her to fall apart.

“Say my name,” I tell her.

“Mercy,” she laughs. I push in with the hardest force yet. She swears loudly.

“Say it.”

“I rather not.”

I lean up and slap her again. I can feel her hips shake under me. Her body is getting close. She never says when she’s nearing the edge, but we’ve done this so many times. All signs indicate she’s nearing that point of no return. Her eyes avoid mine. They’re wet, leaking with tears of tension. I feel overwhelmed. I want to push her there, but I want her to say it. Despite everything, despite all of her talking, she hasn’t said it in so long.

“Moira.” I push harder and harder.

“Fuck.”

“Say it.”

Her eyes shut tight. I keep going, forcing myself deeper and faster. Her hands move away and press deep into my back. Her nails leave hot streaks against my skin. I feel my own body getting so close to climaxing I can’t take it. I need it.

I lean into her ear, and my voice comes out so agonizingly raw, “Moira, please.”

“Oh, God, _Angela.”_

And she comes, in a rush, a whirlwind of release. With a final burst of effort and a shuddering sigh, she unfolds from my body. I keep thrusting through her orgasm until she’s whispering that she can’t take it. I pull out.

I look down at her. Her body is trembling beneath me. When she opens her eyes, the two different shades look like they're glowing in the dim light.

“Brilliant, as always,” she says with an unnecessary level of nonchalance that is supremely maddening. I take off the harness from my waist in quick, practiced motions and toss it on her bedroom floor. I straddle her hips and push her down.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re falling apart,” she says, sliding her fingers along my thighs. They’re shivering too, despite my best efforts to maintain composure.

“I’m fine.”

“You want it.” She pulls me down into another kiss, and I groan into her mouth.

Because even though on a surface level I don’t want anything to do with her, she’s right. I want it. Worse, I need it. I need her, even now, after everything. I always need her.


End file.
